VISION GRID SYSTEM: THE COMEBACK OF RYOMA TAKEDA

Ryoma is a heartbeat late in realizing the girl’s anger, but quick enough to pull his head back before the slap can land. Reika’s swing throws her off balance; she spins halfway around before stumbling forward into his chest.

For a moment, their eyes lock, close enough that Ryoma can hear the quick rhythm of her breathing.

“What… the hell are you doing?” he asks.

The awkward beat breaks as she shoves herself away, striking his chest with more force than necessary.

“You…” she scowls. “Still staring at me… with those pervert eyes…”

“What?”

She swings again, once, twice, each slap missing him by a hair’s breadth.

“Hey, hey… you better stop before someone gets hurt,” Ryoma says, sidestepping a third attempt without breaking a sweat.

On the fourth attempt, her hand halts mid-air. She exhales sharply, her scowl deepening, but says nothing more. Turning on her heel, she returns to her three friends and gestures for them to leave.

Ryoma shakes his head in disbelief, but then squints, spotting something unusual. A man, casual and smooth, slips a hand into the pocket of Reika’s wool coat and pulls out her phone. The girl doesn’t notice it, but Ryoma’s sharp eyes track every motion.

He waits until the man passes, then grabs his arm and plucks the phone from the thief’s jacket.

“Hey… what the hell are you…”

“What?” Ryoma arches an eyebrow. “Want me to shout that you’re a thief?”

“Tch!” The man yanks free and bolts across the street…

BEEEEEP!

A car brakes hard, horn blaring, but the thief makes it to the opposite curb and vanishes into the crowd.

Across the road, Tōjō turns away from the scene, raises the collar of his coat, and walks off without a word.

Ryoma remains unaware of Tōjō’s presence, his attention fixed on the phone in his hand. It’s a high-end model, far pricier than anything a teenager like him would normally carry.

He scans the area for the girl, but she’s nowhere in sight. After more than ten minutes of searching, his gaze sweeps across one mall building and stops on the second floor.

Through the glass wall of a chain cafe, he spots Reika with her friends. Without hesitation, he crosses the road and heads for the mall entrance.

***

Inside the café, Reika is having a casual gathering with her friends. One new face joins them, a young woman in a crisp blouse and tailored skirt, a slim blazer draped neatly over her chair.

Polished heels and a structured handbag complete the look, setting her apart from the others in their casual streetwear. Unlike them, she seems only half-present, jotting something down in a small notebook as if noting material for a journal.

One of the girls suddenly leans over and snatches the notebook from her hands.

“Come on, Aki,” she teases. “Forget about work for once, will you?”

Aki offers a small defensive smile as she takes the notebook back. “Alright, alright… How about we make an order? My treat… first month’s salary.”

The girls light up at the mention of free food, voices buzzing with excitement, everyone except Reika.

And Aki notices immediately. “Reika… What’s wrong?”

Reika’s attention is buried in her bag, then her coat pockets.

“My phone… I… I can’t find my phone.”

Her brows pinch tighter as she keeps searching. Then glances around the café with a face caught between worry and confusion. That’s when her gaze lands on the figure heading straight toward their table, Ryoma.

Instantly, her expression shifts, worry melting into suspicion, and then hardening into a full scowl. She stands abruptly, the scrape of her chair drawing eyes.

“You…!” she snaps, stepping toward him. “You’ve been stalking me all this time?”

Ryoma stops just short of her, unfazed, and extends her phone toward her. “Relax. Someone stole this from you on the road. I got it back.”

“My phone…”

She snatches the phone from his hand, but her eyes narrow like knives.

“Oh, please. What kind of creep steals a girl’s phone just to pretend to be the hero returning it?”

Ryoma exhales through his nose, already annoyed. “Right. Next time I’ll just let the pickpocket keep your phone. Might save me the headache.”

She folds her arms. “Or save me from you.”

He shoots back, tone flat but cutting. “Oh, come on. Just because you’re half-Japanese doesn’t mean you’re the heroine of some shōjo manga with the whole world orbiting you.”

The other girls exchange glances, then turn back to watch, amusement flickering across their faces as the little drama plays out.

Reika’s eyes flare, sharper than before. “What did you just say?”

Ryoma doesn’t flinch. “You heard me.”

“That’s low,” she snaps, her voice rising. “Dragging my race into this? Typical.”

He shrugs, unimpressed. “Typical is thinking the world owes you something because you stand out in a crowd.”

Her jaw clenches, and now the anger burning in her gaze has an edge of personal insult, like he’s crossed a line she doesn’t let anyone near.

The tension between them is thick enough to turn heads from nearby tables, both of them glaring like they’d gladly turn the café into a boxing ring if not for the glass walls and witnesses.

And then, Reika’s fingers curl tight, arm drawing back for a slap. But Aki steps in between them with a flurry of motion.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa… wait! Reika, what is this all about?”

“He stole my phone!” Reika fires back without hesitation. “Then came all the way here to return it like some big hero. Classic setup move.”

“Sorry, Reika! But… I know for a fact he didn’t steal your phone,” Aki says firmly, glancing between them.

Reika scoffs. “And how would you know?”

Aki turns to Ryoma, studying his face for a moment. “Because I know who he is.”

Ryoma narrows his eyes. “You… you’re from last night?”

A faint smile crosses her face. “Yeah. It’s me.”

The other girls exchange wide-eyed glances, whispers rippling between them. Judging from their looks, they’ve already built their own scandalous story in their heads.

Aki ignores them and shifts her attention back to Reika. “This is Ryoma Takeda, a professional boxer. Graduated from Kamisaka High, last year’s Interhigh gold medalist. The same prodigy the local boxing press called the Beautiful Golden Boy.”

Reika squints, refusing to say it out loud, but his face is annoyingly fresh, smooth-skinned almost baby-like, a look that hardly fits a boxer.

On the other hand, a faint twitch pulls at Ryoma’s brows, his eyes shifting away as if Aki’s over-the-top praise itched under his skin.

“I’ve even covered his debut matches myself,” Aki continues. “He’s not some stalker… he’s a name people in boxing circles don’t forget.”

Reika’s scowl falters.

The suspicion in her eyes wavers, replaced by reluctant recognition as she processes Aki’s words.

And for the first time, her confidence seems to take a hit.